


Exceptional

by MillieMay



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: AKA another au nobody asked for, F/M, powers au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26097886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillieMay/pseuds/MillieMay
Summary: Sherlock was made to feel unimportant his entire life. Haunted by the ghosts that his ability shows him constantly. His father "hires" Joan Watson as his sober companion, a former surgeon, the only ordinary person in a family of gifted. He finds himself wanting to protect her from whatever agenda his father has behind this decision.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson (Elementary)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We back at it again with an AU that nobody asked for. Truthfully, this idea has been sitting on the back burner for a WHILE but finally the pieces clicked together thanks to the help of a couple people. Hope you all join in on this new ride because I have a LOT of exciting ideas to comb through. May or may not have ideas for a third au but I have no intention of dropping the ones already in progress. I just apparently enjoy giving myself a lot to work with.

The ground trembles under his feet almost knocking him off balance. He has to protect them at all costs so he pushes forwards into the chaos. A crack ripples through the concrete threatening to topple everything he knows in an instant. Still he marches forwards.

He bites back her fears of what, or who may lie inside waiting for him to stumble upon. A high pitched sound emanates from the building ahead, he knows it’ll hurt like hell but he can’t let them down. He followed the trail left behind, now he has to be the one to help. 

They’re depending on him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock stretches out on the sofa ignoring the trill of the voice next to him. Agnes, he’s named the woman, is an older lady in her seventies insistent that she’d been unfairly killed despite Sherlock knowing for an absolute certainty that she has no recollection of at least a week before her death if not longer. He’d sketch her out later and search for a missing person’s report matching her face but he was at least hoping he could enjoy his morning before the dead started knocking incessantly.

Enjoying the morning got thrown out the door when he remembered his ‘sober companion’ was meant to arrive today. Over the years he’s grown accustomed to his father’s type of ‘help’. His help was a code word. A person of interest that he wanted to keep a stern eye on. This one, however, was the first that Sherlock had grown highly suspicious of.

Joan Watson, surgeon turned sober companion. Seemingly gifted in the medical profession until an accident with a patient had her license revoked. She never recovered and turned to helping people remain sober. A doctor was hardly something his father needed with enough power and money to lure a corrupt professional of any kind. The difference of her being, she was completely ordinary. An unremarkable person in a world of sufficient talent.

Not possessing a power is rather common, but Ms. Watson seems to be the only person in her family with such a position. This is what he suspects his father is interested in. What makes her different from her family. Her father possesses the ability to translate any language or code, her mother has a genius intellect and the ability to retain even the smallest information, and her brother has teleportation. Now she could possess a power so insignificant it is even unnoticed by herself, yet he believes this not to be the case. Coming from a person more than familiar with a useless ability, one would notice.

He pushes his father to the back of his mind rousing the woman in his bed to get ready for the day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_ She seems nice. She’s cute too. _

Sherlock no longer startles at the sudden appearance of the dead in his residence. Agnes smiles at him like a grandma driving her grandchild to a teenager to a date. He furrows his brow at the woman jutting out his bottom lip in defiance. Joan Watson had been all he’d expected, annoyingly nosey and all too ordinary as he’d researched. The case had kept them busy the lot of the day so they resigned to the Brownstone for some R&R for his untrained companion.

“That’s none of my concern. She’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

_ You are not planning on driving that poor girl away.  _ Agnes scolds with a frown. Sherlock deeply wishes now that he’d had time to find her peace so he could have a peaceful night to work on his experiment.

“I won’t have to. My father takes care of that plenty. I’ve had common colds that lasted longer than his help has. He’ll swoop in, offer her a new position and I will never see her again.”

_ I think this one is going to surprise you. _

“What do you know?”

“Who are you talking to?” He spins around, surprised by the new presence in the room.

_ Well, are you going to introduce us?  _ He rolls his eyes at the woman.

“Agnes, this is Joan Watson. Joan Watson, Agnes.” He gestures to where she, no doubt, sees an empty space. He turns to Agnes only to find that she is gone. He looks around for a moment, expecting her to have materialized behind Watson to study her closer but the older woman is simply gone. “Agnes is dead.”

“You can speak to the dead?” She leans against the counter with a soft exhale in amazement.

“It really isn’t all that amazing, I assure you.” Watson shakes her head.

“Your father didn’t tell me you were gifted.”

“Because my father sees my ‘gift’ as useless at best and a nuisance at worst.” Her face softens in what he almost believes is sympathy. He prepares himself for the spiel most launch into at this revelation on the borderline of tuning her out.

“Wait, why did we spend all day at a crime scene if you can talk to the dead?” His eyebrows shoot up, taken aback. “Surely you can just ask who killed them.”

“It thankfully doesn’t work like that or this job would be immeasurably boring. The victims are as unreliable as any other witness. They are spared from remembering gruesome deaths as would most in a plane crash or a wreck. Some lose a week, most lose a month. As for others, they’re hateful of the living. They take out their anger on someone who has wronged them, even if they’re entirely innocent.”

“Like an ex.”

“Precisely.” He bristles at her understanding. The last who’d understood him… “Besides, they’re decidedly less present today.”

“Maybe this one doesn’t want to be found.” He rocks back and forth at the thought, possible but not likely. “Do they always know they’re dead?”

“Not always.” He drifts for a moment, distracted by a memory. “They don’t always linger either. The ones that do have unfinished business, the ones whose lives were cut off without warning.”

“That’s where you come in.”

“Correct.” She grins to herself at the praise underneath his words. Not a lot understood his abilities, they came with a lot of underlying rules. She’s different. “What about you?”

“Me?” She runs a hand through her hair with a curt shake of her head. “No abilities. My parents tested me when I was younger but nothing.”

“Why did your parents test you.” The question comes out harsher than he intends. Concern passes over her face momentarily but she reigns it in just as quickly as it appeared.

“I’m the only one.” Any emotion that comes with the statement is stifled, one that she’s said so many times that it has lost all meaning. “It’s rare and my parents did everything to make sure I was ok.”

Sherlock nods thoughtfully. Any comment on her side is abruptly cut off by the ringing of his phone calling him back to the case once more. Yet even as they proceed his eyes linger on Watson. Seemingly useless in her family she made a name for herself in the world and still she lost it all. He shivers at how familiar the narrative sounds. Despite the annoyance at her intrusion he finds himself wanting to protect her. His father is a poison, but he won’t let him touch her. She’s perhaps the first person to understand him in ages. 

He can’t help his curiosity, but neither can she. She is attentive on the case, never once fazed by the brutality yet still remorseful. She must have been an exceptional surgeon. She listens to the details of the case, hanging onto every word even as she slipped into slumber. She’s comforting with grieving families, it evens out his harder edges.

She’d be an excellent partner, he muses.

_ Told you she’d surprise you.  _


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this is the ACTUAL first chapter and this story takes place about 2 years after their meeting. I’ve thrown all the canon timeline out the window. Feel free to ask any questions and I’ll answer if they’re not going to be answered in the future but I’m so glad this story was well received. It’s such a passion project of mine and I get so excited when I get an idea for writing it. Hope y’all enjoy this chapter and thank you once again.

The crime scene is one of the most gruesome ones they’ve seen as a detective pair, Sherlock realizes as they scope the scene. His eyes flicker over to Watson, though unbothered on the outside she may seem, he’s more than familiar with her ability to bury her emotions deep within her. Her face is of stone as she studies the body lying across the carpet.

Luna Mayfield, a lawyer in the least respectable sense. Made her living getting criminals off with easy charges. He’s more than familiar with her careful dismantling of all the hard work he’s done to get them in prison in the first place. Of course, none of that matters now. Her head was burnt beyond recognizable, one would question if it was even her had she not have the identifiable tattoo on her wrist.

It was her assistant that stumbled upon the gruesome scene early this morning. It’s simple to tell before forensics even confirms that her body had been here all night. It’s also certain in his mind that someone with powers committed this act. The trajectory of the burns as well as the positioning make no sense otherwise. Her blouse isn’t even singed from the damage caused to her. The force that killed her was controlled in a way fire simply isn’t outside of a supernatural nature.

He pulls Watson aside for a quick discussion.

“Someone with powers did this.” She states, already on the same page as him.

“Someone experienced too. This wasn’t an accident or lack of control.” She nods in agreement, the blast was meant to kill her.

“They’ve cleaned up their tracks well. No security cameras caught anyone coming in or leaving except for the assistant and she has a solid alibi.”

“We’ll need to dig in tonight.”

“Where are you going?”

“Meeting,” Her eyes meet his in concern. His attendance of meetings has been growing ever more frequent as of late. “Later.” He doesn’t wish to spread his business to the rest of the NYPD. Not that he’s all the more comfortable telling Watson that as the anniversary of his first love’s death approaches, his control becomes thinner. The torture of seeing all other ghosts but never her.

“Ok.” She reaches out giving his hand a small squeeze. Touch for them is unusual but moments like these are nice. “I’ll get the files together and set up. Pick us up some dinner on your way home.”

“I will. Thank you.” He strides out feeling slightly lighter than he had when he’d risen from his state of non slumber. The past 3 days sleep has evaded him, and with no cases to work the amount of things he could do grew thinner with each passing day. This case was a blessing all on it’s own. 

His walk isn’t a long one, the meeting is just a couple of blocks from the law firm. However, it’s enough that ghosts haunt him on his walk. However, it isn’t Agnes that catches his view this time, rather an older, haggard looking man rocking back and forth. He steps closer, purely out of curiosity.

It catches the man’s attention, dark eyes flashing up at him. “You did this!” He seethes. Sherlock’s brow furrows and his lips press together. “You’ve made a mistake.” Shaking his head frantically the words leave his lips at lightning fast pace. “You have to go back. She’s not safe. She’s not what you think she is. Go back!”

He stumbles back into a pedestrian walking by. The jarring motion sends him spinning with a meaningless apology. However, as he turns back the man is gone once again. 

Damn.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The interaction haunts him for the rest of the day. Even during the meeting he preoccupied himself with sketching the man’s face from memory while it was still fresh in his mind. 

Something deep within him told him this had something to do with the case. This man was important to Mayfield. This was no normal raving of the ghosts that roam the streets. He’d never seen this man before and the words stuck with him like few have.

You did this.

He’s used to misdirected anger from ghosts, confused by their surroundings. Could this man be another victim? Perhaps one that was removed from the scene to prevent a connection from being built. He had Watson pull all photos of known associates, narrowed down to older Asian American men to identify their ghost. Surely this will come up with a successful result.

“You forgot the food.” Watson sighs, disappointed as he walks in. He opens his mouth to apologize but she puts her hand up, “I’ll just order out. Everything’s set up and I’ve got Everyone working on connections that might have been hidden. Are you sure this ghost is connected to Mayfield?”

“Positive.” The venom and fear in the man’s voice was enough to send a shiver down his spine. There’s more to Luna Mayfield than he’d picked up on in their few interactions. Certainly the woman was vicious but this danger he spoke of, it unnerved Sherlock to no end.

Watson reappears minutes later, hair tied up into a knot on top of her head. With her jacket unbuttoned she appeared ready to deep dive into the case with him. “On the initial search I found 3 asian men above 50 who had contact with Luna Mayfield in the months leading to her death.” She gestures to the wall where she has the three photos up.

“None of them look familiar.”

“I didn’t think so. All three are still alive and two of them are in prison serving sentences. But, I thought maybe there could be a family connection.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re still not liking the connections are you?”

“Not quite. The man was poorly groomed. His hygiene was poor. These men look like they come from wealth and he looked…”

“Homeless.” Watson huffs, frustrated. The homeless population is near impossible to keep track of, even under Everyone’s standards. The constant movement and changing of appearance from day to day depending on their conditions. It’s a deadend. “Maybe someone was cut off from the family. Something has to explain this connection.”

“We’ll find him.” He sees her chest swell out of the corner of his eye as he includes her as well. Their partnership over the past 2 years had become a fond one. She stepped naturally into detective work, as if this is what she was made for all along. Her companionship became one he cherishes. He’s told her before and he still holds to these words. He’s better with her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours pass and she ends up asleep on the couch behind him. He abandoned the photos long ago, settled on the sketch he’d made earlier in the day. He’s tried as he could to summon the ghost throughout the night.

Three days of exhaustion is beginning to settle into his bones as the features of the man stare back at him tauntingly. He rubs his eyes staring harder at the picture, trying to will him into existence.

As if on cue, the presence of another person in the room calls his attention. His spine straightens, searching around. The man stands behind the couch, a small sad smile adorning his sunken features. His eyes are not on Sherlock, however, but trained on the sleeping Watson. 

His breath catches in his throat. The features that stood out from the man before, screaming familiarity at him, scolding him for not seeing it sooner. Though broken, his eyes are the same. The shape echoing eyes he’d stared into for the past 2 years.

The ghost he’d seen was Watson’s father.


End file.
